Seven Deadly Sins
by FlyMeAway8
Summary: The Seven Deadly Sins,also known as the Capital Vices,are a classification of objectionable vices that has been used since early Christian times to educate and instruct followers concerning fallen humanity's tendency to sin. So what's your sin, baby girl?
1. Chapter 1

Molly, Lily, Lucy, Dominique, Victorie, Roxy, Rose.

Seven girls who lead sven seperate lives, but are all eternally entwined by their magic, thier families, and the secret sins they embody.

**anger.**  
_greed._  
s l o t h.  
Pride.  
L_u_s_t_.  
**Envy**.  
G l u tt on y.

Molly_{girl}_ is sloth  
Lily_{honey}_ is anger  
Lucy_{baby}_ is greed  
Dominique_{sweetie}_ is envy  
Victorie_{baby}_ is lust  
Roxy_{beautiful} _is pride  
Rose_{darling}_ is gluttony.

The **Seven Deadly Sins**, also known as the **Capital Vices** or **Cardinal Sins**, is a classification of objectionable vices that has been used since early Christian times to educate and instruct followers concerning fallen humanity's tendency to sin.

So, tell me babydoll, what's _your_ sin?

_(A/N: So, this is a bit of a teaser. I've got Victorie and Lily's done already, but I thought I'd wait a bit. Let the tension build, as it were.)_


	2. Lily  Anger

I, Lily Potter, am _not _my father.  
I am _not_ my mother.  
I am_ not not not _James.  
And I sure as goddamn Merlin am not _Albus._

My father tells me to do great things. His whole mind is made up of little quotes to make me be the best fucking little girl I can be. The truth of the matter is, though, he wants me to be Grandma. Just by naming me something does not make me her.

I am not Lily Evans. I am not graceful, or sweet, or happy like her or like little fucking Albus playing with his imaginary friends. What a goddamn freak. The only person he talks to is Hugo. A stupid name, by the way.  
I am not Lily Evans.

I am not my mother either. We may look alike, but haven't you heard those stupid little sayings about judging books?  
I may look like you, mum, but I am not what you think I am. I am not anything that you want me to be, and I am so fucking proud of that.

Mum, I _like_ wearing my clothes like that. I like having people look at me. If _you _don't like it, don't look at it.

Fleur understands. You hate her, don't you? Well, I_ love_ her.

She knows me like you never will.

And don't even get me started on the little fucker that is James Sirius Potter. Him and his friends are the scourge of the Earth, the sniveling simpletons. They're the epitome of filth, sweaty boys that lick their chapped lips and think about rubbing their barely-teenage sweaty hands over barely-teenage silly girls' breasts. James and his friends are the hard tar and spit stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I scrape and scrape at the dirt, but they stick.

Albus, I love you, I do. But you're just such a little goddamn freak. You take right after Luna, don't you? Sitting in your tiny little corner, reading your books upside-down and talking to imaginary friends and creatures. You _tie me down_. I'm supposed to be the little sister. The one that gets taken care of, not the one that has to take care of her incapacitated brother. Would you _try_ to be normal. Once? For me?

One day I'll be free

But for now I'll sit, binded by orders and lies and murderous thoughts.

As hate flashes through my head, darkening my eyes and bleeding into my heart,

I  
will  
sit  
and  
stay  
_angry_


	3. Victorie Lust

Give me pleasure  
Without the pain,  
_  
Who will break my heart?_

Give me closeness  
Without the trust  
_  
because I don't want to see you in the morning._

Give me enjoyment,  
Without wasting time

_Honey, it doesn't take me long to get you wrapped around my finger_

Give me everything you've got,  
Without having to make you mine.

_Because I don't want you like **that.**_

Feel the kiss,  
With a mouth as smooth as oil,  
Feel your body ripple,  
With a pleasure that will not spoil.  
Feel the intense nature,  
Through a simple glance of skin,  
Feel your whole mind fill with intensity,  
As  
_______****__lust  
_slowly enters in.  
Let this animal devour you,  
As your want becomes your need,  
Let it destroy your morals inside of you,  
Until you're let loose, and you are freed  
Of every tie you've ever been given,  
Of everything you've known as wrong.

* * *

People like to pretend that I'm a whore, or a slut, or some other word that is almost as beneath me as the people who say them.

I'm sorry that your boyfriend likes me, I really am.

But I'm a woman of _refined _tastes.

I _love _lust.

Girls like to turn their noses up as I walk past, act as if I'm not worth the air I breathe.

They_ wish _they were this sexy.

I'm not full of myself.

I only crave the feel of skin on skin, the ectasy of hot fingers tracing lines on flesh, the poison on the tip of the tongue, the vicious sensuality of a sinner.

Our way of thinking _is_ lust. It is the deepest human feeling, rooted in a primal need for closeness on fire-filled nights.

I'm not trying to validate, I'm just trying to _c a p t i v a t e_

* * *

Lust  
Blinds  
Lust  
Binds

It ends up  
Flipping all the  
tables,

Love (_I spit it out of my mouth like a dirty word_) only breakes down slowly  
_  
Lust assults, defaces, disables._


	4. Lucy Greed

Even when I was a little girl, I was ever wanting. I would steal toys from my younger and more stupid cousins and friends. I bought a muggle piggy bank, charming it so that whatever went in could be taken out by no one but me. When that one filled, I got another. And another. At Hogwarts, my bed was always covered in books about success in the magical world, and my bedside table held a drawer full of the things I had swiped from my classmates

I wanted more, more, _more._

My father encouraged it, of course, even if he didn't know that _this _is what would become of me. He always told me to reach for the stars, to be determined. Take what you get, give nothing back, Luc. You'll be minister one day, or do something important.

Uncle George and his prideful daughter poke fun, telling me that I'm a mini- Percy.

I was always the favorite of my father. He reprimanded poor squat little Molly (who took after neither of my parents, by the way. When I spoke to her, on the rare occasion I did, I had wondered if my mother had ever had a relationship with Neville Longbottom) on her lack of moral fortitude. He praised me for my slim figure, my nimble fingers, my ever-calculating mind.  
But it doesn't take thoughts to _want._

I have no thoughts, and I have no beliefs, so I take and I take and I take until even the Earth bleeds. I want men, money, power; everything there is to take even though my thirst can never slake.

What about _magic_ you ask?

Possessions are my magic, they fill the void inside and they sustain my life. I have no use for your spirituality, morality, and things I can not see. If it can't be counted, measured, or weighed than it has no use to me.

However, if I could, I would take that away as well.

If I could I would even steal the very grace of magic.

I would rip apart people's hearts just to fill my own.

Yet even with all I have I am still cursed for I am **Greed **and no measure is enough for me.  
Never shall I rest, for my mind is constantly torn.  
Never shall I be content, because I always desire more.  
I am **Greed** and_ never _will I be free from me.


End file.
